


Every wave of the storm

by Hardsquare



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Disabled Character, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Skinny Steve, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, hearing impaired Steve Rogers, then bulky!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hardsquare/pseuds/Hardsquare
Summary: In the beginning, Steve had no one — the world around him was his own, quiet, barbaric nightmare. And then, Steve had Bucky. And things started to change; Steve learned to blossom.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 16
Kudos: 36





	Every wave of the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone !
> 
> I can't explain how excited and nervous I am to share this work with you guys. Before reading it, please just know that this is my first time ever writing something in english, so yeah, no pressure.
> 
> First I want to thank my best friend in the whole wide world [Justine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean) for the constant support even if I'm the biggest piece of work of the galaxy. (she also beta'd this one shot because she's the true mvp)  
> And also my dear friend [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phlebotinxm) for the love and the kind words.  
> (I'm begging you to go check out their works, they're the actual best, ♥)
> 
> If you want the full experience, you can also listen to [Anchor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TzB4FaPODc), by the band Skillet.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_4th July 2019 - 2:33 am_ **

  
  


Steve is not good with sleeping. He doesn't really know what time it is exactly, but he knows that the night is pitch black and that the moon is high in the sky. He knows that, because he never closes his curtains. Not completely, at least. Not that Steve is afraid of the dark, not anymore. He just loves to stare at the empty nothing during his sleepless nights. And he’s okay with that, really. He made peace with his incapability to have a healthy sleep schedule a long time ago. 

When he can’t sleep, like tonight - and a lot of other nights, let’s be honest -, he takes time to analyze everything that’s around him. The bed, the soft comforter around him, the paintings - _his paintings-_ on the walls. The bottle of water on his nightstand, the record player on the corner of the room with the Led Zeppelin vinyl still on it - he can’t help himself, he physically _has_ to listen to ‘ _I can’t quit you baby’_ at least 4 times a day or he’s not in his right state of mind. 

Anyway, the room is still the same in the middle of the night than it is at 3pm, or even 9pm for that matter.   
  
There is still something different about the darkness of his apartment. The shapes on the wall in front of the bed, more like shadows actually. Steve used to be so afraid of them. Especially at night, just like this. Now he just embraces it. He tells himself entire stories about the strange silhouettes in the obscurity, as if it’s now his own little garden of Eden.

While observing this weird dance in front of him, Steve allows himself to drift into his memories, when he was still afraid of the dark.

  
  


**_4th July, 2002_ **

  
  


It’s a sunny and beautiful day, and most of all: it’s Steve’s 8th birthday. He’s just finished eating his lunch with his mother; she made a chocolate cake for him and Steve just feels happy, because he knows his mom doesn’t have much money for this. Yet, every year she never fails to cook a homemade chocolate birthday cake. Steve loves his mom so much.

“Don’t forget to make a wish, honey,” Sarah says, just after humming the happy birthday song to his son.  
  
Steve closes his eyes, and thinks about what he could wish for. Maybe more money so his Ma could be home with him more? Maybe a shiny new bike? What about a healthy year, for a change? He squints his eyes even more and wishes, he wishes so hard that this year, maybe, he won’t feel as lonely as the previous ones. With that thought in mind, he blows his eight candles in one go.

When Steve arrives at the playground, his fingers are wrapped tight around the cake’s leftovers he brought with him. He originally wanted to share it with the kids here. They are children from his apartment building and they are all about his age. His mom always asks why he’s not hanging out more with them, and he never wants to say that he _tried_ , they just don’t _want him_ . But Steve thinks maybe today is the day. So he walks, confident, and introduces himself again.  
  
“Hey guys, it’s my birthday today! Do y’all want some cake? It’s chocolate !” 

There’s a big blank as the kids just turn over to Steve and look at him from head to toes, like he’s some kind of alien or such. Steve can actually see them laugh at him, talking among themselves and pointing fingers. But all Steve can hear is a mess of confusion.  
  
“Hah, guys, Rogers is at it again with his stupid cake, like we’re gonna want to hang out with you, you stupid freak.” 

And they all laugh, again. Steve turns around, holding his tears, dropping the cake on the ground. He runs back to his house and goes straight to his bedroom to unload the tears.  
  
Steve has always been an unhealthy child, as you could say. He has asthma, arrhythmia, and weak muscles. He always has clutches or a cast on any of his limbs. 

And he can’t hear. Not well at least. And Steve can’t remember a time when he was able to listen, _really listen_ , to a conversation between him and more than two people at once. 

People never try to help him with that. Not the other kids, not the doctors, not even the teachers. Beside his mom, he has always been alone. He knew from the beginning he needed to be fixed, he just didn’t know _how_ .  
  
Sarah has the decency to give him some time before she’s knocking softly at his door.

“Honey, baby. What’s wrong ?” 

She helps herself in the little boy’s bedroom and sits carefully on the edge of the bed.

“They all think I’m a freak” Steve sniffs, his face still in his pillow, holding his eeyore’s plushie close to his heart.  
  
Sarah looks at her son, putting her hand on the nape of his neck. After a little while, he turns around to watch her. 

“And why would they think that?”  
  
“I don’t know, maybe I am.” 

Steve is still crying, but the touch of her mom and her simple presence makes him feel a little bit better.  
  
“Honey, you can tell me what happened. I’m not going to be mad at you, I promise.” 

Steve knows her mom is telling the truth, she always does.  
  
He sits himself on the bed, not looking at his mom’s eyes, ashamed.

“I could not hear them, mom. I can _never_ really hear them. It’s wrong, everything is wrong with me.”  
  
He can feel the sad sigh his mother makes. 

“Baby, I need you to listen to me very carefully. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re absolutely _perfect_ the way you are. Those children don’t know how special you are, and the fact that you can’t really hear the right way does not mean you’re broken. I wish that someday you’ll be able to understand that.” 

And with those words, she’s taking her son into her arms and holding him tightly against her chest. 

Deep down, Steve might know his Ma is right. That he should not care about what some random stupid kids think of him. 

But it still hurts. And in his little boy’s heart, he can’t stop thinking about how shattered he is.

**_28th August, 2005_ **

  
  


Steve has always loved summer. He can’t really get sick, and he can spend hours under the sun drawing everything he sees around him. 

He’s eleven years old now and he’s learnt to spend his time alone. Not that he _wants_ to, it’s just easiest this way, is all. Today is a particularly gorgeous day. He is sitting on a bench in the garden attached to his block. He’s alone, except for the old lady feeding the birds, but it’s okay, Steve likes the old lady.

He can sometimes see his mom watching him from their balcony three floors above. He knows she wants to be discreet so he just smirks to himself and dives into his sketchbook a little more.  
  
Today he feels like drawing his mother. Of course there’s a lot of her in his sketches, but he adores her and he doesn’t have many more models, anyway. He decides to draw her with a big smile on her face, holding the birthday cake she always makes for him on July 4th. 

Not so strangely, this memory brings a lot of mixed feelings to Steve. Happiness, sorrow, all the things Steve does not want to think about at the moment. 

He is focusing on his mother’s eyes when he feels a little tap on his shoulder. 

He turns around, abruptly. “What?!”  
  
“Hum, hey? I’m sorry, I called you but I’m not sure you heard me so I, hum..” 

A dark haired boy about his age is standing in front of him. Steve has never seen him here and by the look on the boy’s face, he truly has no intention of mocking him.  
  
“S’okay… Do you want something?” 

Steve really, _really_ , tries to be nice with the stranger. He’s just not used to having conversations with kids his age, that’s all.  
  
The boys seem confused at first but still smile widely at Steve. 

“Not really, I just wanted to introduce myself. Me and my family just moved to this building,” he points at the block Steve and his Ma lives. “My name is Bucky!” 

He extends his hand to Steve, watching him like he’s the goddamn sun- or maybe he’s just facing the actual sun, _that’s why._ _  
_  
Steve shakes his hand and attempts a smile, “Nice to meet you, I’m Steve.”  
  
And with the years passing, Steve actually learns that Bucky wasn’t trying to mock him on this brightful day. And it might just have been the best day of his entire life. 

**_18th September, 2009_ **

  
  


It’s the third time since the beginning of the school year. Somehow, Steve always finds himself stuck in an alley with assholes insulting him, shouting at him, as if he could _hear_ them. So he does the only thing he can think of: he fucking **punches** them in the face. 

Unfortunately for Steve, he’s still very much skinny, he still very much can’t breathe correctly; and when the dude hits back he hits _hard_ , and Steve falls on his ass and against the wall.  
  
“Hey Rogers, it’s just us now, can you hear me or are you just pretending like you always do?” 

Ah, yes. When he was a child, the other kids were laughing at him because he could not hear them correctly. Now, they’d think he was just lying to them, like it was funny for him to constantly ask people to _repeat, please;_ and like it’s hilarious to be hit in some random alley by the same jackass every week. 

“Fuck you, shithead,” Steve mutters under his breath. He is _not_ about to bend down in front of this prick. Yes, even if he _is_ indeed ass on the ground right now.  
  
As he waits for the next punch to come, he closes his eyes and feels absolutely _nothing_. 

He cocks an eyebrow and opens only one of his eyes.

And he sees Bucky, actually pulling one of the guys by the collar, looking considerably _pissed_ . Steve doesn’t know if it’s at him, but he’s glad his friend is here, - once again.  
  
The next few minutes are a mess of words shouted that Steve doesn’t understand, punches and name callings. When the guys finally leave, Bucky is all over Steve; who is still sitting on his butt on the floor, thank you very much.

“Damn Stevie, did they hurt you ?” 

So, Steve can guess that Bucky is not mad _at him,_ and that’s good. 

“Why did you have to punch them? Can’t you walk away and let them talk like the stupid fuckheads they are?!” 

Okay, so maybe Bucky is a little bit pissed, actually.   
  
Steve suddenly loses it and pushes Bucky away from him, before he gets up. 

“Because, Bucky. I’m tired of being insulted and treated like I’m a freak or something. I know I am, they don’t need to remind me everytime they see me. But nothing, absolutely _nothing_ can fix this. Can fix _me_.” 

The look on Bucky’s face stiffens. “You’re not a freak, stop saying that.” 

Steve can actually see that he’s trying. He’s trying so much to make him feel better. But he can’t and Steve knows that. The struggle he feels, and the loneliness he experiences every damn seconds of his damned life, Bucky can’t do anything about this.

With tears and a heavy heart, Steve turns around and begins to walk. 

“Whatever, let’s go home.” 

And it kills him to turn away from Bucky, because he knows that someday, perhaps he’ll leave too. 

And he’s not sure his heart can handle a life without Bucky.

  
  


**_23rd November, 2012._ **

  
  


Bucky didn’t leave. Quite the opposite, actually. 

Bucky stayed and was here for every step of Steve’s difficult life. 

Surgeries, medical treatment gone bad, relapses, aftermaths... Bucky was always here, taking him to the hospital, at his bedside when he woke up from anesthesias. And it honestly makes Steve’s heart fly like a freaking butterfly. He cannot really understand that already, but he likes it. Maybe more than that.  
  
But what Steve is about to do, he needs to do it alone. Without Bucky, without his mom. On his own. And with all the confidence he has in his gut, he steps inside the store for his appointment.

When they put the device onto his ears, it first feels strange. Weird. He’s so used to _not being able to hear_ , it’s almost too much. The person in charge assures him that it’ll feel better with time, he just needs to get used to it.

As soon as Steve gets out of the store, he feels like a train is rolling towards him at full speed. What the _fuck_ is happenning _,_ and why is everything so damn _loud,_ and why the hell are those people even talking about on this damn tv program, and _oh god_ why is this woman’s voice so _acute_ and - _oh, God_. 

Steve has to find Bucky. He has to find him _right now_ , because the only thing he can think of is how much he _aches_ for Bucky’s voice.  
  
Running full speed is not a problem anymore for Steve. After his heart surgery, his stamina is almost back to normal. But it’s enough for him to run to Bucky today.

He finds him sitting on their bench, the one where they met all those years ago, the one where they always hang out when they have free time. Bucky is wrapped in his big coat and scarf, scrolling on his phone, like nothing has changed. 

He sees him running to him so he puts his phone in his pocket and genuinely smiles at him. 

“Hey Steve, what’s up ?” 

And Steve… Steve can’t answer. 

Because Steve is now crying his heart out and sobbing like it’s his eighth birthday all over again. Because he can _finally_ , after all this time, _hear_ his best friend’s voice. His raspy yet chocolate coated voice that he somehow already loves with his whole being.  
  
“What? Steve? Is everything okay? I swear to God if those punks are messing with you again Imma throw hands.” 

Steve can see that Bucky is, honest to god, freaking out, holding him close. But he can’t help himself and cries and cries. And when he can finally compose himself a bit, he looks at Bucky in his beautiful grey eyes, and just kisses him.

Bucky pauses for a moment, then he deepens the kiss and it’s the most perfect, messy, and actually the only kiss of Steve’s entire life. It’s short and chaste but when their lips parts, Bucky still seems confused. 

“Sorry,” Steve whispers, actually not sorry at all.

“Oh God, no, don’t be,” Bucky pauses. “But I still gotta ask, what happened, Stevie?” 

Steve is looking at him in the eyes, instead of at his lips like he always had to do since they met, because he had to lipread. But now, now he doesn’t _have_ _to_. 

And something must click in Bucky’s big brain because his eyes widens and his mouth opens like he just saw a giant bee in the middle of Steve’s forehead. “Steve, are you...?” And gently, he tucks one of Steve’s long locks behind his ear and sees. “Oh my god Steve! When?”  
  
“Today, I ran as fast as I could, I wanted to hear your voice.” 

And Bucky smiles, smiles. And he never stops smiling at Steve, like he’s the goddamn sun. But this time, it’s a gloomy November greyish day and there’s no ray of sunshine in Bucky’s eyes. Just Steve. 

And it might actually be the second best day of his life, he thinks.

  
  


**_4th July 2019 - 3:02am_ **

  
  


Steve is back in his bedroom, watching the shadows from the outside still dancing on his wall. He’s smiling. He is now 25- it’s been roughly 3 hours, he just saw the clock -, and he’s more happy than he ever was. 

He’s feeling better now. The heart surgery changed everything and he now has a very normal stamina. He can breathe, he’s not as sick as he used to be, which is great. He’s going to the gym at least four times a week and ah, he can _hear_ his Ma’s voice from here, “Stop growing like this Steven Grant Rogers, we got it, you’re _taller_ than all of us!” He chuckles at the fond memory. 

But what’s made Steve the man he is today is everything he understood those past few years. 

It’s not the physical part. That, everyone can do. He learned that he never needed the validation of other people. He only needed to find out his true self, be gentle with himself and allow himself some time to grow. 

But mostly, he realized that he didn’t need to be fixed, like he thought his entire life before that, like _others_ wanted to make him think. No matter how much people still wanted to take him down, even now. 

Steve was perfect the way he was, the way he was born, and it’ll always be the case. Weak heart, or not, loose stamina, or not.

 **Hearing impaired, or not**.

Steve feels the quilt move a little and rearranges himself on the bed, feeling a little bit tired again - it _is_ still 3am, after all. He gazes at the other side of the bed fondly as Bucky seems deeply asleep against the pillows, drooling a little. 

Steve knows he’s snoring, not that he can hear it, but he just knows it. And that’s all that matters to him. 

With all those thoughts- the good, the bad, everything that makes Steve the man he is today, he wraps himself around his boyfriend’s back tightly. And it doesn’t take long for him to join Bucky in his sleep, dreaming of friendly shadowy shapes in a starry, black sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. As some of you may know, this work is deeply personal for me. I've been hearing impaired and mocked my whole life, and it was - still is a challenge to deal with it sometimes.  
> But I've learned, just like Steve, and I know now that I'm just the way I should be, and most of all, I have my own little buckys now.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading guys, let me know what you think in the comment section, ♥


End file.
